


Mini Mini Mini

by hjbender



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Abuse of the French Language, Challenges, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Preventers, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjbender/pseuds/hjbender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duo likes the little things. Quatre prefers the bigger picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mini Mini Mini

“ _Petit, petit, petit_ ,” Duo hummed, leaning back in the pilot’s seat to get a better view of Quatre bending over a crate of confiscated firearms. “ _Tout est mini dans notre vie_.”

Quatre straightened and looked over his shoulder. “What did you say?”

“Nothin.”

“It sounded French.”

Duo shrugged. “Just an old song I got stuck in my head.”

Quatre returned to the co-pilot’s seat. “That’s a pretty common occurrence for you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. S’what happens when ninety percent of your brain is taken up by music. I can’t multiply double digits without a calculator, but if you wanna know any Led Zeppelin lyrics, I’m your man.”

“Lead zeppelin? Isn’t that a—”

“Yes, yes, it’s an oxycontin, somethin to do with balloons, I dunno, they were British.”

Quatre snorted at the deliberate misuse of vocabulary. He never understood why Duo made himself out to be a slow-witted simpleton when he was anything but. He’d been the only one to ace the history portion of the GACAT exam administered by the Preventers for the last three years. It was why he’d been the first to be promoted to the rank of Special Agent, and the sole reason the Preventers managed to nail the faction responsible for Operations Scarecrow and Tin Man before the press could _really_ start hammering them.

Now, after the successful raid of an illegal firearms manufacturing plant in the L2 cluster, Shadow and Sand were returning to HQ. Neither was looking forward to filling out the staggering volume of paperwork and documenting every individual piece of “kindling”, but that was the standard procedure following the completion of every mission. And with their luck, they’d be right back to work again. Une was incredibly creative when it came to keeping her young colleagues busy.

Duo finished plotting the course and put the shuttle on autopilot, standing up with a groan. “Man, I hate these seats,” he said, stretching his arms above his head. “The backs are too short. Always gimme a cramp right in my lumbard.”

“They feel fine to me,” said Quatre, paging through the shuttle’s logbook on the in-dash screen.

“That’s cause you’re a little thing.” Duo smirked and patted Quatre’s blond head. “Nice and _petit_.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“What? No way! I love tiny creatures like you. So compact and efficient, like a cute little bug.”

Quatre turned around and glared. All twenty years of his life he’d put up with diminutive nicknames—in school, clubs, orchestra, sports, even now in his adulthood—and they were the one thing that absolutely set him on fire. “ _Compact_?”

“Oh yeah.” Duo wasn’t intimidated; his grin widened. “I’ve always agreed with the saying that good things come in small packages, so teensy _weensy_ packages like you are bound to be great.”

Quatre loosened his tie. “Teensy weensy, huh.”

“Definitely. The great thing about being a pint-sized little pip—”

Duo’s sentence ended with a bark of laughter as Quatre leaped out of his seat and head-butted him right in the solar plexus. He wheezed, still laughing, and tumbled to the floor of the flight deck. Quatre landed on top of him, breathing between his teeth as he pulled off his jacket.

“You arrogant prick,” he uttered, clutching the lapels of Duo’s jacket and giving him a good thump against the carpet. “You think you’re so big. Big as your fat frigging ego, huh?”

“Oh baby,” said Duo, reaching up and grasping Quatre’s shirt collar, “you have no idea.”

He pulled him down into a kiss, which Quatre immediately broke. Duo jerked him down again, kissing harder, sucking his lips. Quatre wrenched back and slapped his face.

Needles of pain tingled delightfully in Duo’s cheek. “ _Damn_ you’re good,” he muttered.

“You have no idea,” said Quatre, grinding himself against the growing erection in Duo’s trousers. “Good things come in small packages, isn’t that right?”

“No”—Duo heaved himself up, knocking Quatre over and underneath him—“big things come in small packages.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Quatre grunted. “That’s not part of our agreement.”

“Man, fuck the agreement, I _want_ you, Quatre,” said Duo as he rolled his pelvis against his partner’s thigh. “I wanna feel myself in you, wanna come in you. Want you to ride my dick and squirm on it and moan about how big it is. Say that it’s too big for your sweet little boy-pussy. Just tell me what you want, Quatre. I can stop right now and we’ll just jack each other off like last time, but if you want me . . . oh honey, I’ll make it so good you won’t even be able to type my name without jizzin your pants. Just say the word, Quat. Yes or no.”

It didn’t take Quatre long to reach a decision. In the brief time since they’d begun this illicit affair, he’d learned quite a few interesting pieces of trivia about Duo Maxwell; the obvious being that he could be brash and irritating and mouthy, the obscure being that he was aware and indulgent of Quatre’s proclivities, never overstepped his boundaries—pushed them, yes, but never violated—and he gave phenomenal handjobs.

So Quatre said yes very quickly. But there was one condition: “Just don’t call me little.”

“Aww but _Quatre_ —”

“Shut up. You can call me sweetie, baby, _Nancy_ if you want, but no little-mini-peewee anything. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Quatre bit his lower lip and stared up at Duo boldly. “There’s petroleum jelly in the first aid kit. Go get it.”

“Yes, Nancy.”

When Duo returned a minute later with the container, Quatre was sprawled on a cot in the back of the shuttle—originally intended for long flights or injured passengers—partially undressed, stroking himself languidly. After a few seconds of goggling, Duo’s instincts kicked back into gear and he kneeled between Quatre’s legs, ripping open his fly. Out bounced his cock, rigid and red and ready. Quatre sat up and grasped it, tugging gently. It looked huge in his hand.

“My, my,” he clucked, “is all this for me?”

“Every fuckin inch,” said Duo, and handed him the jelly. “Grease me up, angel.”

Digging a glob of gel out with his fingers, Quatre spread it on the palms of both hands and grasped Duo’s penis, threading his fingers together and forming a slippery clasp. He laid back and rapidly pumped his hands up and down, and Duo had to pull away lest he come too soon.

“Asshole,” he panted, staring down at Quatre’s wicked grin. “Oh-ho, just you wait, buddy boy, _two_ can play this game.”

He grabbed the jelly and swiped three fingers into it, then dropped his hand between Quatre’s legs and pressed his slippery fingertips against his warm pink pucker.

“What’ll it be, babydoll?” he dared. “Two fingers or three?”

“You incorrig—”

Two fingers plunged into Quatre’s body, there was a yelp of pain, and Duo was two seconds from getting socked in the jaw by a Vaseline-covered fist when he wrapped his other hand around Quatre’s cock and gave it a few loving caresses.

Quatre relaxed his fist and spread his legs, adjusting the angle of his hips until the grimace disappeared from his face.

Duo leaned over him and smiled. “That the place?”

“Yeah,” said Quatre, propped up on his elbows, breathing heavily. “Oh yeah.”

“I hope you got enough lube on me the first trip, babe, cause I’m gettin mighty impatient here.”

“If I bleed, you’ll bleed. Remember that.”

“You’re so cute when you’re demanding. Spoiled punk.”

Quatre pulled Duo down by the collar and kissed him. For a moment Duo struggled to reposition himself, then finally laid himself out against Quatre and resumed fingering and stretching him. They kissed and lazily moved against one another, naked erections occasionally brushing together.

“God, you’re the biggest slut I’ve ever seen,” Duo panted into his mouth. “Three fingers already? You must have some giant dildos under your bed.”

“You wish, pervert.”

Sweat plipped from Duo’s brow onto Quatre’s cheek. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in love with me. But you’re prob’ly just horny as hell and can’t wait for me to bust your cherry. That what you want, Quatre? Duo Maxwell’s big ol’ dick slammin in you?”

“Yes.”

“Gonna let him shoot his load in you, sweetheart?”

“Yes!”

Duo smiled at the desperation he heard. “Oh, Quatre. If you were my girl I’d have you knocked up so fast it’d—”

“Stop, I’m gonna come!”

The fingers massaging Quatre’s prostate abruptly retreated, and for a moment the two lay panting in the dim light, trying to cool their burning appetites. Duo lowered his head and clasped his mouth to Quatre’s throat, sucking and humming, working his way up to the tender earlobe. Quatre released a contented sigh as he sucked that, too.

Duo gave one final nibble before asking, “All better?”

A smile.

“Ready to mount up?”

Sweat shining on his flushed face, Quatre nodded. He crawled up and kicked off his pants while Duo laid back on the cot, his gel-glazed cock leaving glossy strings of precome on his belly. Quatre threw his leg over Duo’s body and straddled him, maneuvering into position.

“You’ll be fine, babe,” said Duo throatily, “just sit on it. You can take it.”

Quatre grasped Duo’s penis, lost it (it was really slippery), picked it up again, and placed it against his hole. He sank down a little, his ring of muscle spreading to swallow the head—they both moaned at the sensation—before dropping himself down on Duo’s hips.

“Oh Max, you feel great,” Quatre groaned, closing his eyes and rocking slightly.

“I love it when you call me that.”

“Max?”

“Yeah. Heh.” Duo nudged his pelvis upward, making Quatre smile and moan.

“ _Moi je préfèr les maxi_ ,” he hummed, peering down at Duo’s shocked face. “ _Maximum et maximale_.” He rose up and slid down easily on Duo’s cock, erasing the surprise from his features. “You forget, my mother was French. It was the second language I lear—haa, ohh, you _are_ a big boy, aren’t you? Nice and big.” He placed his hands on Duo’s chest and balanced himself as he rotated his hips. “Any bigger and you’d split me wide open.”

It was difficult to determine which swelled more, Duo’s dick or his ego. He grinned and reached up, wrapping his slick hand around Quatre’s erection and pumping it a few times. He felt the expectant twitch—he really _was_ close.

“Babe, I don’t think you’re gonna last much longer.”

“I know,” sighed Quatre, rolling and rising, faster, shorter, rubbing his prostate against the ridges of Duo’s penis. “You’ll just have to come over to my place sometime and call me a little . . . little spoiled slut and fuck me with your great big c—ahhh, _Max_ , _Maxwell_!”

“That’s it, honey,” he gasped, muscles in his arm burning as he furiously stroked Quatre. “Come for your man.”

He did, screaming in the final moments and riding hard, thighs clamping Duo’s waist, rills of semen pouring over Duo’s knuckles. The pounding and sliding and clenching of Quatre’s body was too much to endure for long, and Duo let out a low growl that built to a howl of triumph as he completely let go. He bucked, slamming repeatedly into the tight grip of Quatre’s ass, punctuating each thrust with a loud “Yeah!” as he came hard and long.

Quatre suddenly seized Duo’s wrist, stopping his ministrations. “Enough,” he panted. “Enough. It’s too much.”

“Hm, I bet,” Duo grinned and let go of his partner’s exhausted penis. “Too much dick for your little candyass. Did I fill you up, angel? Did Big Max give you enough?” He rubbed his hands up and down Quatre’s thighs, rolling his hips in gradually diminishing waves.

Quatre’s eyes fluttered closed as he rode the aftershocks. “Oh yeah. I’m good.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Nothin better than—”

The communicator in the shuttle’s console beeped: an incoming call.

“Shit!” Quatre hissed, climbing off Duo with a wet squelch and fumbling for his trousers. Duo, who at least still had his shirt buttoned, bolted off of the cot and jammed his semi-soft dick back where it belonged. He took a moment to straighten his disheveled hair before leaning between the seats and pressing REPLY.

“Go ahead.”

Heero Yuy’s grainy, perpetually-dissatisfied face appeared on the screen. He narrowed his eyes at his colleague. “Everything all-clear, Shadow?”

“Affirmative,” sighed Duo, dropping into the pilot’s seat. “On our way back to the firehouse now, got plenty of logs to burn.”

“Copy. Where’s Sand?”

“Uh.” Duo could hear Quatre dressing hastily somewhere in the back. “He’s gettin somethin outta the med kit. I think he sat on somethin hard.”

In the background: “You _fucker_.”

One of Heero’s eyebrows sprang up. “Was that him?”

“He, uh, must be havin trouble gettin those little aspirin packets open. I better go help him.”

“You might want to take an aspirin yourself.” Heero glared pointedly. “You look a bit feverish.”

“Ten-roger, Light, wilco, over-and-out!” Duo hit the END button a bit harder than necessary. He slumped back with a sigh. “Damn, I think he’s onto us.”

“Onto _you_ , you mean,” Quatre chirped, sliding into the adjacent seat, looking rumpled but pleased. “I think he’s been waiting for a ride on Big Max since 195.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just _pursue_ that little notion and see what happens. Could be he’s an even bigger cockmongler than you.”

“Or he could just be a little.”

They turned to look each other. Quatre slowly smiled.

“ _Petit, petit, petit_.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Mini Mini Mini" is a song by Jacques Dutronc, covered by KMFDM, the latter likely being the version Duo's most familiar with.


End file.
